Sometimes I Wish That I Could Freeze the Picture

Last Tuesday was our first day of kindergarten.

As expected, there was a sleepless night the evening before, nervous anticipation about what the new teacher and classroom would be like, and inevitably, a few tears during the drop off.  

But I’m OK now, thanks.

I assumed this year was not going to be much of a transition because my daughter is attending kindergarten at the same place she’s gone to preschool for the past two years. She knows (and loves) the director and teachers and has lots of good friends in her class. Everything is familiar and comfortable and she tells me all the time she loves going to school. (Actually, she says, “I love going to school, Sir,” as she has taken to calling me “Sir” lately. Please do not look to me for explanation.)

When my husband and I were preparing her for the ways in which kindergarten would be different from preschool, we had to determine a way to break the news she would not be having a naptime during the day come September. I broached the subject very gently, thinking this bit of information may likely cause a great upset in her small world. I needn’t have worried. When I said, “I have to let you know that in kindergarten, you no longer get nap time.” She replied, with a tremendous sigh of relief, “I’ve been waiting for that all my life.”

Armed with her Hello Kitty lunch box, her box of school supplies and wearing an ensemble of her choosing (tie dye leggings, a wool plaid skirt and a bedazzled peace sign t-shirt), we walked into school on the first day of what will be the last year she spends there. She took charge — directing me to where the “big kids” cubbies were, putting her things away, and confidently striding into her new classroom, ready to tackle the new school year. She immediately hugged her best friend, posed for a photo, and then busied herself with exploring her new classroom.

She was having such a good time I didn’t think she heard me when I told her to have a great day and that I loved her. So I turned around to leave, thinking about how bittersweet it is when your child starts to become independent.

Which is exactly the moment my kiddo ran up behind me, hugged me and said brightly, “I love you, too, Sir.”